The internet is so strange. In terms of printmaking, it is the most democratic form of spreading ideas (and art). Take any conglomeration of typeface and imagery. Post it (with or without instructions for printing and distribution). And voila'! The conceptual framework for a democratic revolution.
What makes blogging better than keeping an old-fashioned diary? The former lacks the therapeutic release of handwritten curvilinear scrawls. There is no need for editing when pouring out your unapologetic intestinal ramblings!! Keeping a diary is like spinning a spider web. Have you ever tried it?? Not the easiest thing in the world. But think about it. Individual handwriting says a lot about someone (for instance, how often said person takes pen to paper in lieu of typewritten thought transcriptions). Diaries are sacred. They are locked and swathed in a veil of intimacy that the voyeuristic internet rips apart. So the point then is to share information with others. To share good news, exciting travel updates, post pictures, spread ideas, remove personalization and increase efficiency. Well, I guess it's still personal for the author, but not for the readers.
I know this is a super unradical thought, but I'm still struggling with it. Who am I blogging for now that I'm not traveling? For myself? To feign connections with others? Should I really just keep my incessant cerebral oscillations to myself? Does posting it to the world wide web make me an e-spider? (My secret Greek superhero name is Ariadne) What do old posts collecting e-dust reveal about me that I might not want a stranger to know? Do I care what strangers or people I used to know know about me?
Maybe just purging myself of these toxic hang-ups will help somehow. Here's hoping
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I've tried writing a diary, and I've tried blogging (of a sort), and I think you're absolutely right when you say they serve different purposes. When I write for me, I'm usually trying to seive through all the little facets of what's on my mind to try to figure myself out, figure out what's really going on - like I'm reading my own book and trying to find what the author was thinking. When I write for other people, I'm afraid I'm usually trying to impress them, but I think there's the internet spider in everyone. That's not to say I write untruths...just the truths I like more than the others, whether or not they're explicitly flattering.
ReplyDeleteBut...I think in the end, there's a lot of me that wishes people would find what I'd written for me, and ignore what I'd written for them. I think the act of preparing a version of your own tumult for the world makes it not quite yours anymore, despite the best efforts at honesty, so that for me, the blog fails exactly in as much as it tries to differ from the diary, and my diary wishes it was a blog that everyone read, without my knowing. I've always found a happy medium in candid conversation, as rare as it may be. That's my balm, that's where it all gets sorted out in the end.